


Like Real People Do

by Coffeebookboy



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (LIKE REALLY SLOW), Halloween, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-War of the Ring, Samhain, Slow Burn, hobbits are pagan damn it, i may later change the name from samhain if i feel it doesn't fit anymore, i promise hobbits aren't homophobic in this one, mentions of child rearing and the straight agenda, sick/elderly parent, there are so many children in Brandy Hall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffeebookboy/pseuds/Coffeebookboy
Summary: A few years have passed since the War of the Ring ended. The hobbits we know and love are safe at home in the Shire. But after his time as a warrior, Merry struggles to cope with the quiet of Brandy Hall and the absence of his dear friends in Gondor. Autumn is in full force and a very special holiday comes along that he dreads spending alone. Just in time, he'll find he doesn't have to be alone any longer.But two questions weigh heavily on Merry's mind.Why has Boromir come? And could Boromir ever be happy spending the rest of his days far from home, in a hole in the ground?
Relationships: Boromir (Son of Denethor II)/Merry Brandybuck
Kudos: 13





	Like Real People Do

After the harvest festival, many areas of the shire braced themselves for the dark of winter. They stocked up in jams and pickled their produce. Youth were told to head home early, and candle-making became weekly family entertainment. Everyone made sure their roof and doors were sturdy. Smials nice and watertight. All in all it seemed a very busy and serious business, but that wasn’t the case for all. Some odd hobbits and especially faunts were fascinated by the darker days and the accompanying traditions. It was said by elders that far off lands where there had been many wars, filled up with very mean and hurt spirits. There were even tales told of a long ago war that happened right in Eriador, although this was a legend and was not told as historical fact, but as entertainment. 

Seeing as hobbits were such pleasant folk and didn’t imagine much danger from these spirits, they said instead that the spirits were envious of every harvest festival. The story goes that the spirits journeyed far and wide, reaching the shire on the darkest day before winter when the dead became most active as they were trapped in Arda. These visiting spirits, Hobbits told their faunts, were once elves and men, and they were not malicious anymore, but they were sorrowful and full of regrets. Weeks leading up to the day they called Samhain (which always fell on the 25th of October in our world), hobbits practiced the most superstitious behaviours although they could not remember why. 

Dried herbs and flowers were hung in bundles by the front door, and carved squash and pumpkins were set in the front garden. The pumpkins were made to look like faces for the most part, but some strayed from tradition and depicted pretty birds and flowers, among other pictures. These actions had one day been a form of protection, but no hobbit alive remembered so. It was all a fun game to them now. Most importantly, when the day came, a large feast was held, with dancing and singing and drink. 

Empty places were plated with food for the lost souls, and toasts led to wine being poured out near the fire. These superstitions were rationalised as precaution and kindness, for it was said that in the old days, spirits had caused hardship over winter out of jealousy. Dried and canned goods went bad without reason and a hobbit’s well stocked winter pantry had been emptied. Trees had fallen into their homes and other horrors. In order to prevent these supposed tragedies, the hobbits of the shire had for many years celebrated Samhain and shared the goods they had on one night. 

In following tradition, they unknowingly protected their homes for the winter to come. Besides, the faunts loved to sit around a fire and tell ghost stories one night of the year. As hobbits did love to give gifts, they didn’t only share with the spirits on this day. Caramel apples and hot cider were given out to all the faunts, as well as other sweets. The young ones would get so full of energy they would run round and round all evening and would sleep soundly when it was time for bed, minimizing the frequency of frightened faunts waking their intoxicated parents in the night.

It was in the weeks leading up to Samhain that Merry, a hobbit who had really seen spirits of kings long dead, felt that he was perhaps too old to celebrate such things. The war was done and life went on for the people of the shire, but Merry and his companions had traveled so far and had such an adventure, each of them was changed somehow.

Merry’s mother had fret that he had “come home a soldier.” But part of him missed dearly the brave men and women he had met in the war. Boromir, Faramir, and Eowyn had remained in Gondor to help rebuild the white city with Aragorn as king. And though Pippin did talk fondly of their friends when recounting the journey, he seemed unbothered by their absence. It seemed that time had healed him. He was happy to be home and the company of his own kind was more than enough.

Merry felt that he had truly bonded with Boromir and Eowyn in different ways, but deeply with both. He saw that same connection in Frodo and Sam. To survive danger of great magnitude with another person was pivotal. To let someone hold your life in their hands… it changes you. He often dreamed of showing Boromir the ways of the shire. Of presenting him to Brandy Hall to be hailed as a great hero and survivor, the man who had saved Merry and Pippin from certain death.

While Boromir’s people certainly loved him, he had confessed that after fighting for so long, his duty was indistinguishable from everyone elses. Victory was not celebrated any longer as the fighting never stopped. He did not seem to know how brave he was. Aragorn had recognized this as well, but Boromir refused any gifts or praise when songs were sung of the fall of Sauron. 

Merry longed to take him to a place that knew little of war. He believed the Shire would feel less empty with his friend at his side. He believed that then, they could heal together. But these thoughts were selfish. Gondor was where Boromir belonged and Merry had turned away from those dreams. He had not extended an invitation when the hobbits were headed home.

He was setting out to go fishing one morning when he heard rumour that a man on horseback had asked a merchant in Bree for directions to the Shire. He had not taken immediate interest until a description of the man’s garb seemed oddly familiar. Still, he shook free of any misplaced hopes. It did not seem rational that Boromir or Faramir would come so far alone, and Aragorn would have written in advance. It was early that night when Merry’s doubts were proven wrong.

Primrose Proudfoot, a friend of Merry’s mother, came knocking. She whispered apologies for disturbing dinner, but continued on. 

“Begging your pardon Master Merry, but a man came asking for you in the Green Dragon.”

"A man?” Merry’s heart leapt to his throat.

“He won’t say much, but he’s been told your whereabouts. We told him to come in the morning. We all, well, your neighbours were patrons you see, and we thought you might like to be prepared.” Merry understood. Since the black rider had come asking about Baggins, all were more wary of tall folk.

“Thank you Prim.” He’d said, inviting her in to share their meal. That night, he didn’t sleep a wink.

* * *

The morning started in very much the usual way. Merry woke to a house that was steadily getting louder. Brandy Hall housed many of his relatives and it seemed breakfast was beginning. He dressed, washed, and joined the others.

His mother asked him to pour the faunts their tea and he did so before taking his seat by the head of the table. In passing conversation, he was reminded of Prim’s visit and he felt a rush of anticipation that lingered in his fingers. He drummed a beat on the table and brushed off his mother’s questions with amusement.

“Do you think it may be one of your friends made on your adventure?”

“It is possible, mum, but I can only wait and see. I doubt anything foul has happened.

“Perhaps I worry too much, you always know what to say.” She kissed him on the forehead.

As breakfast came to an end most of the household began to depart for the day. Merry didn’t usually stay home long unless he was ill. As such, he was unused to the quiet. The knowledge that someone may come knocking for him held him back.

“I’ll be in the garden, darling.” His mother said to him. “One of these days this place will be yours to manage, you’d do well to come learn a thing or two. Daisy is helping me lay down mulch.”

He hummed and looked to the door, unusually absent.

“Merry?”

“Hm?”

“That is - unless Pippin is expecting you somewhere?” A natural assumption.

“I’m sure Pip can manage on his own for a day.” Merry joked, giving her a genuine smile. He bounced on his heels and clasped his hands behind his back. She nodded, a knowing look in her eye. The back door closed with a click and he was left alone with his thoughts.

Sitting in the entryway like an overeager faunt, he tried not to worry. He ended up cataloguing small changes in the house. A crack in the wall that surely wasn’t there when he was small, mystery stains in the rug that could be this season’s jam or year old wine. The absence of his father’s handiwork was undeniable. Merry’s father wasn’t deceased or sickly, only getting too old for such work. His chair sat empty until Meriadoc was married. His father now spent most nights up the river, closer to Hobbiton with his sister. She had no children of her own, and being younger, was happy to care for him and help him into town. Not that they didn’t all pitch in. Hobbits did not shy away from old age and stayed close with their elders. The community all cared for children and the old folk alike. Taking turns at sharing meals and keeping an eye out. It was simply more convenient for Merry’s father to be closer to the market most days.

Merry thought fondly of the nights his mother often sent a plate of something special up the road for her husband. He knew that his father was perfectly happy away from the hustle and bustle of Brandy Hall. Still, it had seemingly sped up the clock ticking away at his familial duty. Merry felt that his father’s shadow would be always hanging over him, reminding him of the model hobbit he was meant to become. His thoughts were becoming heavy and not a moment too soon there was a solid knocking at the door.

“Coming!” He hopped to his feet and then paused for a moment, breathing in sharply. He braced himself for disappointment. The only way to know what news waited at the door, was to open it. 

So he did.

A hush passed over the threshold and silence held for what felt like an eternity. The longest 3 seconds in Merry’s life since he and Pippin had been swept away by Orcs. Merry willed his words, feeling choked with emotion.

“I… I hoped you’d come.” No witty words came to him. Only amazement.

Boromir stood there, solid and a little bewildered. He looked out of place, but in the most delightful way. His cheeks were flushed from the sun.

“I felt I owed you a visit. To see if the tales were true.” Boromir looked around as he spoke, taking in the scenery appreciatively. 

“Tales?” Merry asked.

“Yours. Of the Shire.” Boromir explained. Again, too long they lingered, looking at each other and unsure quite how to express their joy at seeing a familiar face after so long apart.

“Please come in!” Merry managed, his voice lilting with enthusiasm. His grin looked as if it could crack his face in two. Boromir ducked his head through the doorway with a chuckle. The door closed behind them and Boromir was surprised to find he could stand full, but only just. Many of the rooms were built this way in Brandy Hall. It was an unusual spaciousness that the Brandybucks employed when they had made the oldest tunnels and rooms.

The tense formalities between them broke and like a rush of fresh air, built up emotion crashed down on them and filled the room with sweetness. Without thinking, Merry leapt forward into Boromir’s arms, breathing him in and laughing. He may have been crying, but he didn’t notice. Boromir held him tightly, seeming relieved. They stayed that way a good long while before they were stirred by the sound of voices outside. Boromir set Merry on his feet again, bashful.

“You look well.” He said. As if it was so simple to do so. To continue on.

“I can scarcely believe my eyes.” Merry breathed, his laughter ever present under his voice. Boromir laughed in return, a full and warm sound.

“A welcome sight, I hope?” He asked with twinkling eyes.

“Of course!” Merry gave him a shove to be certain the message got across. As much as he’d like to keep his guest to himself, he knew that was impossible. He resolved to stall awhile. “You slept at the inn? You must be hungry, you’re here before they serve a meal.” 

Boromir shook his head, amused. “No, I am perfectly alright. Although in truth it would do me good to have a drink, I’m parched.”

Merry nodded, the thrill of seeing his friend again still humming through his bones. He showed Boromir where to leave his things, instructed that he remove his boots, and invited him to the kitchen. Merry poured his guest a glass of water from the pitcher in the coldwell and put on the kettle. Within minutes of rummaging around the pantry, the table was set for tea and cake. 

“There now, that was no trouble at all, see? I hope you know you’ll be staying here from now on. The inn has a few larger beds, sure, but the food doesn't compare to ours." Merry said.

“I couldn’t impose-” Boromir began, but he was cut off quite quickly.

“You’ll be doing me a favour you see!” Merry insisted. “All my nieces and nephews have been here at night instead of in their own smials for at least a week. It seems my cousins have decided I’m free for watching faunts as I haven’t got any of my own yet! No no… you must stay. We have plenty of rooms and if I’m setting you up for a visit, my mother will send the brats home awhile.” He winked as if this was some grand scheme of his, when in reality it was an on the spot impulse to take advantage of his mother’s hospitality. He knew she’d be pleased he was making an executive decision for the household, even if it was met with some groaning from his Aunt. 

Boromir looked around him and through the halls and archways that connected to the room they were in, thoughtful. He seemed amused if not a little bit baffled. 

“Very well, it seems I have no argument to make. The decision’s been made for me. But… if I may. This hill seemed to have many doors and windows into it. Surely you’re not saying they all belong to the same dwelling? How large is your home? Do many children live here?”

Merry chuckled, enjoying Boromir’s bafflement. “I’m sorry. I didn’t explain it very well, did I? Firstly yes, but only in the sense that all of the smials here are connected to the primary hall. There aren’t doors connecting different bedrooms or any nonsense like that, so you need not worry about privacy. But these aren’t my neighbours. This is Brandy Hall and everyone who lives in it is my family. And yes, I suppose it is rather large. The great smials over in Tuckborough are even larger, belonging to the Took family.” Here he added an aside, “that’s where Pippin and his family is.” 

He paused here, allowing for a deep breath. “Am I forgetting anything? Oh yes.. No, this is not typical for all hobbits. The Brandybucks used to be one of the largest families in the Shire. I'm an only child, but I have many young cousins. The Oldbuck, my ancestor, built his smial into Buck hill and then as the family grew, so too did Brandy Hall. So no, many children don’t live _here_ with me and my mother, although they do spend a great deal of time here when they’re allowed. I imagine you will meet everyone here for dinner tonight. Then they’ll spend supper in their own smials.”

Boromir huffed a silent laugh and it stirred Merry from his thoughts. “I am… rambling, aren’t I? You don’t care to know these sorts of things.”

“On the contrary, I find it illuminating. And I am happy to know that there is room enough for me. I had heard that hobbit holes - er, smials - were too small for a man to stand fully. Yet here I fit well enough. And I am comforted to know you are not alone.” 

“Well, most don’t have high ceilings like this. It is built this way to help the light from the windows reach deeper in. Otherwise we’d be burning lamps all the time while the sun was up!” This jest relieved any anxiety Merry had begun to feel and they both eased into a comfortable silence as Merry retrieved the singing kettle. 

“I’m going to offer tea to my mother and her friend. You might as well meet them now while the smial is quiet and emptied. If that’s alright?” He turned back to his friend, cheeks rosy and eyes kind. 

“Of course.” Boromir said. 

**Author's Note:**

> still working on the title and this is only a fledgling fic, but i have so much i want to do with it! this hasn't even been beta'd so it's a little clunky and I apologize for that. 
> 
> there will be some details that are inaccurate to canon and i won't apologize because some details i'm borrowing from tolkien's appendices and some i'm making up completely to serve my own purposes! if peter jackson can make up his own characters, i feel i can have odd headcanons about hobbit culture and the Brandybuck family.
> 
> ironically enough i've had complaint on my other work that i write like tolkien and my characters serve as walking history lessons at times.. for once, i feel it is appropriate (in this fandom) right?
> 
> please bear with me as i sort this out and feel free to leave criticism/thoughts/notes in the comments! I'm so happy to finally be writing about my favourite middle earth rarepair.


End file.
